Captain's Crown
by Lady Chekov
Summary: Here's the second chapter, explaining the previously asked question: Why is Kirk's crew treating him like, well, royalty?! Sorry bout the wait and I changed the rating just to be safe... FIND out WHAT is making Kirk's EGO skyrocket! Read and Review.
1. Who are you calling SIRE!

"PLEEZE, sair!!! I only vant to serve you, your majesty!!!"  
  
Pavel Chekov dove to the floor and raised his hands like a beseeching child. He stared up at his captain in a manner that anxious puppies often took to brutal masters.  
  
Kirk stared at his navigator in startled confusion. He took a step back from the young man, unsure.  
  
"Pardon me, mister, but just what are you talk-"  
  
"Exactly ten minutes and fortyfive seconds ago, you dismissed me from the bridge, sair. I LIVE to serve you, Master Kirk, and I vish for you to forgive whatever blunderous ill I have commited to deserve your dissapproval." Chekov paused to take a breath and Kirk took the moment to interrupt.  
  
"Ensign," he said, tightly, "On your feet, please." This was beginning to look like a juvenile joke, borderline insubordination, and Kirk would not have it. Chekov was on his feet immediately, at attention. His gaze was downcast and much to Kirk's suprise, tears rolled from the almond eyes and puddled boldly down his cheeks.   
  
"I only vish to serve you, your majesty," he croaked, his voice thick with despair.   
  
"Mister Chekov," the bewildered Captain sputtered, disturbed by the young man's open weeping,  
  
"What IS the meaning of this??"  
  
"FEAR NOT, CAPTAIN!! I WILL DISPOSE OF THIS WORTHLESS PEASANT!"  
  
A tall blur of blue darted past Kirk and knocked Chekov to the ground with a battle cry.  
  
"Spock!," Kirk shouted, "Mister Spock!"  
  
Then, thinking quickly, James gathered himself in the most kingly manner he could and boomed,  
  
"SPOCK, I COMMAND YOU TO STOP AT ONCE!"  
  
As if stunned by a type II phaser, Spock froze in place, his hands still clutched around Ensign Chekov's throat in a less than passionate embrace.   
  
"I COMMAND YOU TO RELEASE THAT ENSIGN!"  
  
Finding the magic words, Kirk watched as Spock's hand snapped open as if it had been holding a sponge of acid. Chekov dropped heavily to the floor with such a thud that Kirk winced. Spock stepped over the body as if it were a pile of Zebulon Bat waste and stood calmly at attention.   
  
Captain Kirk strode over to the intercom, unnerved but keeping a stable facade towards the homicidal Vulcan.  
  
"Sickbay,"  
  
he said sternly into the grate.  
  
There was a fumbling over the com system as if a number of overanxious fingertips had attempted to press the button at once. The link crackled to life and McCoy's voice could be heard faintly,  
  
"Back! Back, you bloodsucking brainless fools! He wishes to me! Me, I say!"  
  
"Bones," Kirk called into the speaker, beginning to feel a few beads of sweat prickle at his cold brow.  
  
"I am RIGHT here, sir, at your immediate service," the craggy voice over the com replied, "as soon as I remove these DAFT, OVERZEALOUS-"  
  
"Bones! I am up here on Deck level Three, Ensign Chekov has been...uh...disciplined and requires some aid. Thank you." Kirk closed the circuit and clamped a hand over his face. Being a captain called for loyalty but this, this was a bit much for the ego. Something strange was happening and he did not like it one iota...  
  
"Captain, are you functioning?"  
  
The Vulcan's serene voice startled Kirk back to the moment. It sounded as if Spock had finished a long meditation rather than a beating of an innocent underling.   
  
What's going on here? Kirk wondered.  
  
"I'm...heading to my quarters, Mister Spock, to...uh...uh..."  
  
"Recuporate from the strain of responisiblity?," Spock offered, and Kirk greedily, gratefully took the bait.  
  
"Exactly! Exactly, Mister Spock! Now if you'll excuse me..."  
  
Kirk turned on his heel and half ran down the corrider toward his room. At least ten crewman bowed as he galloped past, and three others begged for forgiveness from their most dedicated sire. Kirk realized that he had just ordered a rest period for the members of the bridge nearly fifteen minutes ago and all of them were pleading to be placed back on duty. Ignoring their requests, Kirk unlocked his chamber and dashed inside, hoping to think on this calamity, contact Starfleet Command, and solve this problem before his ship plunged into a worshipping, loyal, loving, deadly chaos! 


	2. King Kirk?

*Author's note: Sorry about taking so long to write this, but I had finals and the like. Thanks so much for all the reviews! I am thoroughly enjoying the attention :) Oh, yeah, and I forgot a disclaimer last chapter so here goes: -ahem- IdonotownstartreknordoIclaimtoownthecharactersthankyou.  
  
Now then. Enjoy.  
  
If Captain Kirk's ship's cabin could speak (and had been influenced at all by it's resident), it would talk of women.   
  
It would probably ignore the calm time Kirk had often spent there, reverently reading his antique books and smelling the ancient print with a modern nose.  
  
It wouldn't think to mention the various artifacts that Kirk used to decorate the walls, from countless alien worlds as souveniers of great and not so great missions.  
  
No, Kirk's walls would've gotten straight to the point.  
  
Women.  
  
And of all the women, human or other, that had stood in Kirk's modest, silent room, this particular female was far more radiant, more beautiful, more breathtaking that any of them.  
  
So Kirk stood there, staring openly at the golden figure standing in his private quarters, for several moments before he could muster enough thought to speak.  
  
"Excuse me, miss, but what are you doing in my room?"  
  
She laughed, a langiud, spoiled sound that was none the less charming,  
  
"Waiting for you, my leige."  
  
"Your leige? Why are you calling me your leige? And why are you waiting for me?"   
  
Kirk suddenly realized that this lovely vision no doubt was related to his crews' strange attitude. He stared at her with narrowed suspisious eyes.  
  
Her smile faded from her full red lips and she looked at him with the level gaze of a diplomat attempting to introduce negotiations.   
  
"I am come from the planet, Paratimn, forty four parsecs north of your current location. According to the research I've conducted concerning your species, you are the leader, the cap-ti -an of this ship?"  
  
She raised the tone of her voice to become a question, and Kirk nodded once in reply.  
  
The smile returned to her lips full force, nearly blinding him with the gorgeous gleam of her happiness.   
  
"So as you are a natural leader among your own men, I have decided to honor you by making you the second ruling body of Paratimn. The word in your language is "king." You will twine with me and become the King of Paratimn."  
  
She stated this matter of factly, turning her back on Kirk to digest it all while she looked appraisingly into his mirror.  
  
He cleared his throat after a moment,  
  
"I'm afraid that that is impossible," he said carefully, "I have no personal wish to become King of Paratimn or King of Anywhere for that matter."  
  
She whirled around to face him, her face suddenly crumbling with shame and her silver gown sagging with her round shoulders,  
  
"Am I not beautiful enough for you? Do I not please you?"  
  
Kirk reddened, for once losing the confidence with which he normally spoke. He was not expecting this as a response.  
  
"No, no,no,no. It's not you, not at all. It's me. I'm...not....kingly material is all, I swear. You...well, you are very beautiful. Breath takingly, radiantly beautiful..."  
  
Immediately, she straightened regally once more, and showed her sparkling smile.   
  
"Then there is no problem," she said, out stretching her arms toward him, "I have giving you a chance to FEEL the loyalty and rulership that a king does, that is, until your ship finally arrives at Paratimn-"  
  
"You're the one responsible for the way my crew is acting?"  
  
She pouted sweetly,   
  
"You make it sound like it is a horrible thing, my love. I simply wish for you to have some...kingly experience...before we are twined before the court."   
  
Twined?  
  
Kirk choked on a reply, the image induced by that word tangling his thoughts.   
  
"W-wait...wait a minute, miss-"  
  
"Sssssssoooooooooooooooon," she whispered and dissolved into a fine gleaming mist.   
  
Kirk groaned with weary frustration. He sat down on his bed and covered his eyes with his hands, trying to focus on solving the problem at hand. Maybe he could talk some sense into the crew. Yes.   
  
He rose from his seat, and immediately wished he hadn't opened his eyes. His entire quarters had metamorphsed in a matter of seconds. His beloved book collection had changed into a mahogany case of medieval weapons. The various alien artifacts had transformed into a wall full of tapestries and silver pieces. Apalled, Kirk stared at his violated chambers, his mouth wide with shock. His gaze floated over the changes and centered on the wall mirror. A shirt of chain mail replaced his yellow command uniform, a cloak of red velvet draped over his broad shoulders, a saber of glinting silver was the weapon at his belt, and lastly, and the most prominent, a crown of gold rested on his dirty blond hair...  
  
Kirk wrenched the head piece off and flung it on the floor, where it made a satisfying metallic crash.  
  
"I'm NOT your King!," he shouted.  
  
Then, he turned, his cape flowing regally from his back, and stalked out of his cabin with an air of purpose. 


End file.
